Take This Cup (21 page)

Damascus existed at the juncture of the highway called Via Maris, which connected the lands of the East to the Sea of Middle Earth, and the King’s Road, leading to the spices of Arabia. The mingling of Syrian dialects with the tongues of Cypriots, Armenians, Nabateans, and Ethiopians was overwhelming to the ear. A form of Greek was used as the trade language, but the sons of Abraham with whom we dealt spoke Aramaic and Hebrew as well.

Equally confusing to the senses were the sights and smells of the place. I stood in one spot, revolving slowly and gawking. “If Damascus were the ark after the Flood, Noah just opened the gates,” I marveled. “Look at all the strange creatures.”

“And pickpockets,” Raheb observed wryly. “Don’t forget them. Keep your coins and your wits about you, or someone will make off with them both.”

At that instant a cry of “Stop! Stop, thief!” resounded from the direction of a dealer in dried fruit, proving Raheb’s point. Few of the other tradesmen even bothered looking up. Most resumed their patter as soon as the disturbance faded into the distance.

I hitched the parcel containing the cup around so that it rode at the front of my waist.

The Roman authorities had little concern for either commerce or crime outside the walls. Inside Damascus, it was another story. Tramping squads of Roman soldiers scowled at everyone they met, as if daring us to resist their might.

“Damascus has a kind of independence,” Raheb told me. “It is the northern-most city of those ten states called the Decapolis. The emperor likes the tax money he collects from here, so Rome’s boot is lighter on its throat.”

The emperor had even made an effort to show the regard Rome had for the local deity. An earlier temple to the god of the Assyrians, a storm god named Ba’al Hadad, had been dramatically expanded with Roman arches and columns. The structure was then rededicated under what the emperor said was Hadad’s Roman name: Jupiter. Of course the statue dedicated to the worship of Caesar himself was larger and grander than Jupiter’s.

“Rome is happy to appease the religious sensitivity of conquered people,” Raheb observed with heavy sarcasm. “High Priest Caiaphas would probably let them do the same in Jerusalem if he thought he could get away with it.”

Outside the pagan temple, merchants sold clay models of a squatting, bearded figure wearing a conical cap and bull’s horns and holding a lightning bolt. It made the Assyrian god look like
an angry dwarf. “Unless that’s supposed to be Caesar,” Hosea muttered under his breath.

I was relieved when we got back to our own circle of camels and tents and away from the clamor. I felt guilty somehow, as if carrying the Cup of Joseph into such an unholy place had further tarnished it.

I said as much to Raheb around the supper fire that night . . . leaving out the part about the cup, of course.

“Just remember,” he warned me. “The Almighty cares for the Gentiles too. Didn’t he send the prophet Jonah to warn Nineveh to repent? It was, by all accounts, an even more wicked city than Damascus.”

Seated with our group and several other families for a supper of fragrant saffron rice and mouth-watering minced lamb, Hosea asked, “Does anyone have a story to share? About Damascus, I mean.”

To the surprise of everyone, including myself, I waved my hand. “My teacher, Rabbi Kagba, told me a story of Damascus.”

Bushy eyebrows raised, Hosea gestured for me to proceed.

“It was thirty-three years ago, he said. My rabbi, who studied the ancient writing, learned Messiah was about to be born in Judea. My teacher came through here on his way to Jerusalem.”

I stopped, suddenly shy at the way the entire group, adults and children both, were silently, attentively listening.

“Is that all?” Michael said. “That’s not a story.”

I resumed. “It was here . . . in Damascus . . . that the rabbi met all the other scholars who were seeking the newborn king. Rabbi Kagba told me they all saw the sign of his birth in the sky while they were still on their journeys, before they met in Damascus.”

Everyone glanced upward into the heavens. The blazing torches of the souk blotted out all the stars, except for a triangle
of bright beacons hovering in the southwest . . . in the direction of Jerusalem.

“But at Jerusalem they found King Herod ruling still.”

Hosea and Raheb both made sounds of derision at the mention of the Butcher King.

“After escaping Herod, they were guided by the star to a house in Bethlehem where they found him . . . the infant child.”

I paused again.

“His name? Tell us his name, boy?”

“Jesus of Nazareth.”

A profound silence existed over the group. No spoons clinked against bowls, no one spoke for the space of ten heartbeats, and then pandemonium broke loose.

“You mean the Healer,” Raheb said.

“The Teacher? The Prophet?” Hosea added.

“The one we are going to seek?” Raheb continued. “You’ve known this all along and never spoke of it until now?”

“I . . . the rabbi sent me to find him too,” I said. “But I wasn’t sure if I should speak of it or not. Rabbi Kagba had heard that old Herod killed the boy babies of Bethlehem, trying to murder a challenger to his throne. The rabbi says Herod even killed his own sons.”

Hosea nodded in agreement.

“That’s why Jesus grew up in secret,” I said. “But for three years my teacher has been hearing of the miracles and the wisdom of this Jesus.” I waited again for the babbling to cease. “My teacher sent me to learn if the stories are true. To see for myself if Messiah has come.”

“It is a question written very much on all of our hearts,” Hosea acknowledged. “By the Feast of Dedication, we will know.”

Chapter 20

O
ur caravan camped beside a creek flowing down from Mount Hermon. Even though it would still take two more weeks to reach Jerusalem, I felt great excitement on this Sabbath. On the day after tomorrow we would enter the northern reaches of the Promised Land.

I was especially eager to set foot in Eretz-Israel. Soon I would see my grandparents and my brothers.

“From Dan to Beersheba, our land stretches,” Hosea said when he announced our location. “Of course, King David ruled much farther north than this. And his son, Solomon, farther still. Now the country is all broken into little patches for this Herod or that Herod . . . but the land is still the land. It will all come right when Messiah comes to rule as King.”

The
Havdalah
service had already concluded. Now a mixed group of northbound and southbound travelers swapped gossip by firelight. While the men talked politics, I visited with a pair of ten-year-old twin boys named Jachin and Sorek, who sometimes completed each other’s sentences.

“We’re going to Damascus,” Jachin said.

Sorek concluded, “To see our uncle.”

Hugging the pack containing the cup, I asked, “And you come from Jerusalem?”

“Near there,” Jachin said. “Bethlehem.”

“The place where the Temple lambs are raised,” his brother explained.

Hearing the name of the village brought Rabbi Kagba’s tale to my mind. “Isn’t that where the prophet named Jesus was born?”

“Him? Naw, he’s from . . .”

“Nazareth.”

“But we saw him once,” Jachin added. “Last year, at Tabernacles, I think.”

“And you heard him speak?” I persisted.

“Sure,” Jachin said. “But we didn’t understand what he meant.”

Sorek offered, “He said if anyone was thirsty they should come to him and drink. But he didn’t have any water with him, not even a cup.”

“And what did the grown-ups say to that?” I asked.

“Some of them think he’s crazy,” Jachin said.

“Some people say he’s a prophet, and some say he’s King Messiah,” Sorek added.

Then Jachin concluded, “But the Pharisees and the priests don’t think that. Not at all.”

The air was very still that night as I slept . . .

The fronds of the date palms lining the road hung limp in the flickering firelight. The sky revolved overhead.

Eventually the easily recognized form of the Lion of Judah spun into view directly above me, accompanied by one of the seven lights. Awakened by no cause I could identify, I studied the stars. I thought the extra spark of light was Shabbatai but
wasn’t entirely certain. If the wandering star was in fact the Lord of the Sabbath, there was a close conversation going on between it and the star in the lion’s paw called Regulus, the Little King.

“It was on just such a night that David studied the stars,” a familiar voice commented. “Like tonight, Shabbatai was in the form of the Lion in those days too. But David’s thoughts were on other things.”

Even without asking the identity of the speaker, I said, “Hello, Joseph. So you have a story for me about King David?”

“You’re already in it,” the Dreamer corrected. “Look.”

It was true. Without any noise or sense of motion, the caravan camp had vanished. The night sky was identical, including the presence of the Lord of the Sabbath, but now I lay on a hillside in front of a cave. The hilltop was fortified by a stone wall. Looming over the very crown of the knoll was a massive terebinth tree. In the distance the lights of a small village twinkled.

“Where are we?”

“This place is called Adullam,” Joseph said. “Over there, those lights you see are Bethlehem.”

“But why are we here?”

Joseph gestured for silence and pointed to a ledge a dozen feet away beside the tree trunk. Four men stood there, conversing by the light of a single torch. They were dressed as warriors, with swords by their sides and round shields slung across their backs. Three of the men wore conical metal helmets. The fourth was bareheaded and his hair, like his beard, was red.

The red-haired man spoke. “That’s my home there,” he said to the other men as he gestured toward the twinkling lights of Bethlehem. “I tended my father’s sheep from the time I was eight or nine years old.”

A fellow shepherd! I felt an instant connection to the speaker. A shepherd boy, grown into a warrior-king.

“I sometimes led the flock to pasture below this very spot,” David continued. “Up here is a good place to watch over them. In those days there were lions in these hills. Bears too sometimes.”

The description of the danger caused me to shiver and look over my shoulder. I wished Beni was nearby. I could always rely on the dog for warning.

“Back then, when I was kept many nights away from home,” David said, “I looked at the lights, just as now, and dreamed of being back in Bethlehem. Do you know what I missed then? A drink of water from the well by the gate. It still seems to me that no water quenches my thirst like that water does.” David shrugged. “The Philistines garrisoned there are worse than any lions or bears. Not only can they not be driven away as easily, but their presence in my home town feels evil to me.”

The shepherd king’s tired face showed longing, I thought.

David added, “I wish someone would get me a drink from that well!” Then he turned his back on the sight and entered the mouth of the cave.

David’s three comrades exchanged looks and nods, but their captain did not witness the sign of agreement. From a stack of weapons beneath the terebinth, each of the three men selected a stout, oak-handled spear mounted with a forged, dagger-shaped blade.

One of the men raised his head and scanned the night, causing me to do the same. “Four hours till dawn,” he said.

“Time enough,” another agreed, and the three set off down the slope at a jogging pace. “Quiet and speed, yes?”

“Grab hold of my cloak,” Joseph instructed me. “Unless you want to try running to keep up with them.”

What followed this instruction happened with a rush. With no sense of fear, I found myself soaring over the Judean hills like a hawk on an updraft. Joseph and I spiraled toward the outline of the Lion of Judah, then downward again toward Bethlehem’s glow.

“Watch!” Joseph urged.

Though very little time seemed to have passed, David’s warrior companions were already on the outskirts of the City of David. Hidden in a creek bed, they waited until a pair of Philistine guards had passed, then burst out of concealment. As quickly as the sentries turned, they were stunned by blows from the spear shafts.

The three Jewish soldiers moved as a single shadow under the eaves of a cottage. Waiting until another sentry moved away, the three flitted across the intervening space toward a gated opening at the far side of the city wall.

I marveled at their bravery. By the light of a single watch fire I counted ten sleeping Philistines. Then I ticked off twenty similar watch fires before losing count. Two hundred of the enemy against three!

“There is the well,” Joseph said.

A wooden frame held a leather waterskin balanced above a stone-encircled shaft. The well was near the city gate, but the area around was completely void of shelter or concealment.

Standing beside them in the darkness, I heard David’s men converse. They were at the last building before the naked expanse of the village square. There were no guards in sight.

“I’ll get the water,” the leader of the three instructed, “while you keep watch.”